


The end

by CloudLeopard



Series: Brokeback Bangtan [5]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 19:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15613917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudLeopard/pseuds/CloudLeopard
Summary: Jungkook finally pushes Jimin beyond his limits and does something that Jimin cannot forgive him for





	The end

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was so hard to write, and I low key hate it for what I'm putting Jimin and Jungkook through. It's shorter than the others as I couldn't bear to keep torturing Jimin anymore.   
> I had so many comments on chapter 3, some hating on Jungkook's character, all I can say is you're going to hate him even more now.  
> I couldn't even bring myself to post this until I was part way through writing chapter 6, and the guys were in a happier place.  
> tags reflect the misery, the dubious consent one isn't quite right but there isn't a tag for consensual sex that probably shouldn't be because of the shitty headspace that one of the participants is in.  
> Come yell at me, I deserve it.

The following ten months have felt like a never-ending round of the same things, hospital appointments, drawing, interviews and exhibition prep. Choi Seunghyun hasn’t wanted to push Jimin too hard, his recovery has been slow. His ribs still twinge if he pushes himself too hard, when he runs or if he flops down on his bed without thinking. His head and face are back to normal, there’s a tiny bump where his cheekbone was broken, where its healed, Jimin can feel it when he touches it, but he doesn’t think its noticeable just by looking at it. His hand has caused the biggest issues, the metalwork came out four months ago, another operation, much scarier this time as he was fully aware of what was going on until they anaesthetised him. He woke up to a plaster cast, right down to the tips of his fingers, possibly even more inconvenient than the metalwork, if that was even possible. The pain had been back too, pain that had dulled over the intervening weeks was back with sharp clarity and he’d had to restart the never-ending tablet ritual again. The cast is now off, and now he’s in rehab instead, constant exercises for his hand to get it back as close to perfect as possible, and they fucking hurt too. 

 

The pain has changed him, where once he was mostly carefree, love life dramas aside, now he’s much more careful. He doesn’t sleep as well as he once did, and he’s fully aware that his temper is shorter. And he’s afraid to go out at night. This he keeps to himself, feeling like a total idiot, but when the calls come from his friends to meet them somewhere after dark he turns them down, making excuses, the memory of that night and the utter terror that came from nowhere still haunting him. Thankfully it hadn’t taken many refusals until Yoongi worked out that if he collected Jimin and saw him home after, that Jimin would come. Yoongi is perceptive and discrete, he’s never confronted Jimin, but he’s tried to start conversations. Jimin might not be ready to open up but he knows that when he’s ready, Yoongi will be there. It feels as if when his parents opened their home and their hearts to Yoongi, that he really did become Jimin’s brother. They might not be similar in a lot of ways, but the relationship that they’ve formed over the last few years is deep and enduring, and Jimin is immensely grateful for it.

 

The drawings that he’s produced in the last ten months are different too, darker, more abstract, more mature and with an undercurrent of danger and anger. At first, Choi Seunghyun wasn’t sure that Jimin was going in the right direction, he tried to steer him back to his original style, and Jimin has tried, but he couldn’t find any motivation to even start something light-hearted, never mind finish it. In the end, Seunghyun had capitulated, and let Jimin draw what he felt, the drawings were much better anyway and, at the moment, Jimin’s name was enough to have people interested, to have people wanting to own one of his originals.

 

They’re preparing for his second exhibition, it’s going to be exactly a year after the first one, a date that’s been freaking Jimin out since it had been proposed. He’d resisted, asked Choi Seunghyun to reconsider, to have it even a week earlier or later. But Seunghyun had been unmoveable, he wanted this to be Jimin’s reply, for him to rise above what had happened, to show people that even if they kicked him down that he would not stay down. And so Jimin reluctantly agreed and had ended up drawing himself as a phoenix in a series of drawings. In the first he was small, naked, broken and bruised, curled up in a nest. In the second he was standing, almost obscured by flames, but there was a look of determination on his face. In the third and final one, he was flying above his nest, large rainbow wings sprouting from between his shoulders. He wasn’t going to sell the third, but he’d display it with the others, the third was staying with him, to remind him that he would always be ok.

 

 

Before his exhibition, however, he had something important to return home for, something that he wouldn’t let anyone talk him out of, he was heading back to celebrate Eunae’s first birthday with her and her family. She was possibly the smiliest baby in existence, every time Jimin went to visit, which was nowhere as often as he’d of liked to, she reached for him, grinning and patting his face, snuggling into him when she was tired. She had the best giggle Jimin had ever heard, both adorable and infectious and he loved it. His relationship with Eunae was sacrosanct to Jimin, and so when Jungkook had let him know they were going to be having a party for her birthday he immediately cleared his schedule to make sure he could be there.

Travelling back to Busan, with the most ridiculously over the top gift lavishly wrapped and placed carefully on the passenger seat, Jimin was in a great mood. The weather was beautifully sunny and, although that meant it felt cold, inside his car, Jimin could only feel the warmth.

His parents coddle him as usual, chattering happily about his exhibition, checking they’ve got the right details, they will be there, cheering him on, by his side.

He texts Jungkook once he’s spent some time catching up with his parents, knowing he’s got an hour or so before he heads over to Jungkook’s for the party. Jungkook is clearly harassed from his reply and Jimin giggles, imagining him running about trying to help organise a party for his baby.

 

 

Jimin arrives to utter chaos, Jungkook and Hyejin’s little house is crammed with family, friends and an assortment of babies crawling and toddling around the place. He knows hardly anyone, and, to be honest, it’s a bit awkward. He can’t monopolise Jungkook or Hyejin, but he has nothing in common with their parent friends either. Thankfully Eunae spots him from her place in Mrs Jeon’s arms, she starts wriggling as soon as she does, reaching out for Jimin and Jimin grins, reaching for her too. His happiness at having her to cuddle is marred slightly by Mrs Jeon's reaction to him. She tries to hide it and mostly succeeds, but Jimin sees the disapproving look she gives to Eunae’s enthusiasm towards Jimin. She can obviously tell that Eunae knows him well, that she likes him, and it doesn’t seem to make Mrs Jeon happy. He tries to brush it off, to stay and chat to Jungkook’s mum, to subtly offer to pass Eunae back, but Eunae won’t go, and once she realises this, Mrs Jeon walks away. Jimin swallows hard, past the damn lump in his throat that shouldn’t be there. Jungkook’s mum hasn’t been rude, just indifferent, but it hurts all the same. He takes comfort in Eunae’s little body, cuddling her close, sitting her on his hip and rocking her gently as he navigates the party, looking for her parents.

Having the baby with him instantly changes a lot of people’s reactions to him in the room, where they were polite but distant they are now friendly and chatty. He is bombarded with questions about his own family, is he married? Seeing someone? Wanting to be a father soon? It’s kind of dizzying. He isn’t sure what to tell people, he doesn’t know how much they know about him, what Jungkook has told them, if they are likely to react badly if he tells them that no he isn’t married, has no intention of marrying because he’s gay and while fatherhood would be nice, due to the lack of female in his life, will likely never happen. So he dodges the questions, smiles politely, tells them a little about his work when he’s prompted, and keeps scanning the room for Jungkook.

After the presents and the cake, he excuses himself to the bathroom, grinning to himself on the way back while he scrolls through the photo’s he’s taken. There is one in particular, Eunae sat in front of the cake, huge in comparison to her, both of her hands are full, she’s smeared in icing almost to her elbows because she’d literally just grabbed at the cake with both hands. She has her arms raised above her head and the most triumphant grin on her face, Jimin is going to draw this one, he can’t not. He heads towards the lounge, looking for Jungkook, hoping to show him the photo when he hears hushed voices, he recognises them both, Jungkook and his mother, and he slinks closer to listen, stomach cold.

“No, mum, stop it.” He hears Jungkook start, “he’s my friend.”

“But Jungkookie, you have so many other friends now, I just don’t think he’s the right sort of person to be around Eunae, you understand?”

Mrs Jeon’s words stab straight through Jimin’s heart, they’re discussing him and she obviously thinks he’s a bad influence.

Jungkook’s voice is like ice, “no I don’t understand, there is nothing that would make him unsuitable to be around Eunae, he loves her, and she loves him.”

“He does dirty things with men,” Jimin hears Mrs Jeon hiss, “goodness knows what sort of diseases he’s carrying, I’m just concerned for my granddaughter that is all.”

Jimin can’t listen any more, every word hurts, is that really how Mrs Jeon sees him? Dirty? Diseased? He pushes his way outside, squatting down, curling around himself, trying to disappear. He’s heard it all before of course, and worse, but coming from Jungkook’s mum makes him wonder for the first time if it might actually be true, maybe he is dirty and wrong. He doesn’t want to believe it, but she sounded so convinced, and deep down he trusts her, respects her.

He stays there for a long time, until his muscles are screaming for him to move, until the house quietens down, until Jungkook comes outside carrying a bag of rubbish and spots him.

“Jimin?” he questions, “you’re still here? Are you ok?”

Jimin looks up at him, at the man that he loves, maybe wrongly, and he can’t even reply, just looks blankly at Jungkook.

Jungkook reaches for him, pulling him up and hugging him,

“fucking hell, you’re frozen,” he gasps out, feeling the chill on Jimin’s skin, pulling him inside and sitting him on the couch, “how long have you been out there?”

Jimin shrugged helplessly, “since your mum…” he started, voice cracking.

Jungkook’s face contorts with horror, “you heard?” he whispered.

“She hates me,” he groaned out quietly, “wants me to disappear.”

Jungkook can’t even deny that it’s true, agony passes over his face before he reaches again for Jimin, holding him close.

“Min, fuck, I’m so sorry you heard that,” he croaked out, “I have no excuses for her, she was awful.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Jimin whispered, “has she destroyed the café drawing?” 

Jungkook shook his head, “no Min, it’s fine, I’ve asked, she just reckoned she wanted a change of decoration,” Jungkook reassured him.”

“Can you get it?” Jimin asked softly, “keep it safe, it means a lot to me, even if it doesn’t to your mum anymore,” a tear tracks down his face, the hurt too much to be contained.

“Oh fuck Min, I will, of course, I love it,” Jungkook tells him softly, holding Jimin gently, stroking his back soothingly.

Jungkook held Jimin as he cried softly, almost muted in his anguish,  
“she thinks I’m dirty and diseased,” he moaned to Jungkook.

Jungkook’s own voice hitched, “oh Min,” he breathed, holding Jimin tighter.

Jimin shook his head sadly, “maybe she’s right,” he told Jungkook, resigned.

Jungkook stiffened and started to protest before Hyejin suddenly bolted through the lounge, thrusting Eunae at the pair of them and rushing out again, hand against her mouth.

“She ok?” Jimin asked, somewhat diverted from his own misery for a second.

“She’s pregnant,” Jungkook explained with a sigh.

He continued to talk but Jimin heard nothing apart from white noise, he blindly passed Eunae to Jungkook, grabbing his things and escaping out to his car, needing to get away, wanting to get away before he too started throwing up, and all he could think was ‘not again.’

 

 

By the time he gets home, slightly surprised that he’s managed to drive home, all the way to Seoul, without any memory of the journey, he’s missed about a million calls and texts from all manner of people. The only person he responds to is his mum, apologising for leaving without saying goodbye, citing a sudden meeting with Choi Seunghyun. He doesn’t read Jungkook’s messages, doesn’t listen to the voicemails, and sends him just three words.

 

From Me:  
“Fuck you cheater.”

 

The message elicits another slew of calls and messages, but he doesn’t pay any attention, because fuck Jungkook. Last time he forgave him, stood by him, watched him get married, made his fucking wedding cake, loved him, loved him so fucking much, but not this time.

 

He gives everyone one chance, once he’s calmed down, he’ll talk to them as long as they don’t mention Jungkook. Everyone from Busan fails, everyone apart from Yoongi and his parents, so he deletes and blocks all of them. He blocks Namjoon and Seokjin, he blocks Hoseok and, with a huge lump in his throat, he blocks Taehyung. He doesn’t block Yoongi, Yoongi doesn’t push him, doesn’t ask Jungkook related questions, heeds Jimin’s warning to avoid Jungkook related anything. It takes him a week of backing and forwarding with his own feelings, hurting so fucking badly yet again, before he blocks Jungkook too.

 

 

Because as far as he is concerned, Jungkook has finally gone too far, for all of his pretty words and promises, for all his declarations of love, he’s betrayed Jimin again, and Jimin just can’t take it anymore, doesn’t have it in him to fight any more. His love for Jungkook has been destroyed, ripped, smashed and soiled, where once he saw only the good in Jungkook, he’s now forced to face the reality that his now ex-boyfriend is far from perfect. Jungkook took his love, consumed it, took everything that Jimin had, and he gave him back heartache, cheated on him, broke him far worse than those arseholes had that night. He may not have the broken bones and bruises this time but it feels far worse, part of him is just gone this time, part of his soul, leaving only a blank and cold void.

Luckily he has done all of the drawings he needed to do for this exhibition, he’s done the pre-interviews and the build-up hype, all he has to do now is get dressed in something nice, show up and be charming. It should be fairly easy, it’s not.

 

 

The day of the exhibition starts off stormy, dark clouds roll across the sky and the distant rumble of thunder promises that the weather will only worsen as the day progresses.

 

Jimin starts his day with a bath, it’s the first time he’s been anywhere near the bathroom for anything other than the toilet in a week, he’s filthy, and the colour the bathwater turns as he soaks is a testament to that. Slightly disgusted with himself he drains the tub, and showers too, washing his hair twice, making sure he is actually completely clean.

He works his way through his hand exercises, something else he has neglected over the last week, the pain of the stiffened muscles and tendons making him gasp out loud, meaning he’s reaching for the painkillers again in order to make it through the day, he stashes extra in his bag just in case.

He dresses carefully, he already had a suit ready, dark burgundy colour with an almost blindingly white shirt. He’s had this professionally fitted so it’s perfect, at least it should be, as he fastens the trousers Jimin frowns, where they fitted him perfectly at the shop, they now hang slightly loose, dropping deeper down on his hips than they should. He has to go rooting around in his drawers for a belt that will go with such a smart ensemble. He finds a simple black one that will do the job, realising as he pulls it tighter than its usual notch that it’s not the trousers that are the problem, he’s lost weight. He rolls his eyes at himself, what a fucking cliché he is, breaking up with someone and ending up losing weight, at this rate he’ll take up a new hobby or dye his hair or something else ridiculous.

He heads to the gallery, earlier than he really needs to be there but it’s calming, walking around his drawings. The space is bigger this year, far more pictures await the guests, far more guests are invited and Jimin starts to feel a little thrill making its way through him, this is what he needs. He wanders past the refreshments table, flashing the lone waitress there a dazzling smile as he snags a glass of champagne, it’s probably a bit early to start drinking but he’s not going to overanalyse the situation. He drinks it quickly, probably too quickly, enjoying the gentle tickle of the bubbles and the slight buzz it sends around his bloodstream. He finds and chats to Choi Seunghyun, ignoring the other man’s raised eyebrows as he notes the glass in Jimin’s hand, and then its show time.

The reticence he’s felt in the lead up to the exhibition is swiftly swept away, the room is buzzing, people stop him, chat to him shyly, question him and he fucking loves it. These people adore him, they love his work, and they’re prepared to pay quite staggering sums of money to own one of his pieces. They want pictures with him, his autograph, just a minute of his time, to lay a hand on him, something to prove that they’ve actually met him, and this time Jimin laps it up. He flirts back, happily poses for photographs, gives the requested autographs, agrees to the requests for high fives and hugs.  
His parents come, and Yoongi, and no one else from Busan. Even if they did know the exhibition was today, and Jimin is sure that they do, he’s asked Yoongi to tell them to stay away, this is his day, his time in the spotlight and he doesn’t want any part of it marred by Jeon fucking Jungkook.

There is no after party this time, just a really lovely meal out with Yoongi and his parents, and Yoongi drops him home, walks him to his door, conscious of the fact that in the dark exactly one year ago tonight, bad things happened, Yoongi gets it, and he cares.

 

 

Deep in his drawing headspace two weeks later, Jimin is pissed off when his phone interrupts him, it’s only a text coming through but after cutting off half of his friends he gets very few messages these days, and this one fucking startled him. He looks at his picture mournfully, the scare has made him drag his pencil right across the page, ruining the line that he was trying to draw. It’s only at the sketch stage, but he’s spent nearly two days on this now, and because of one fucking text message he’s going to have to start again. Red hot anger boils in him from nowhere, he grabs the canvas, whirling around and slamming it into the side of his chest of drawers. The thin wooden frame of the canvas shatters, leaving his drawing hanging limply, and the shockwave of the hit sends darts of agony through his hand. It’s the pain that halts his anger, giving way to hot tears of shock, making him stumble for the fucking hateful pills again, reminding him that again, he’s neglected his exercises.

It’s safe to say that when he reaches for his phone, he’s not in the best mood.

 

From: Unknown number  
“Mr Park?”

 

Jimin almost growls, seriously, all this drama for a fucking ‘Mr Park.’  
He types back furiously,

 

From: Me  
“Who the fuck is this? This had better be fucking important, you’ve just made me ruin a picture.”

 

He doesn’t get a reply for nearly an hour, long after he’s dropped his phone again and gone to make himself something to eat, sulkily refusing to go anywhere near his easel again today.

 

From: Unknown number  
“I cannot apologise enough, truly. Your works are masterpieces, the thought that I’ve had a hand in the destruction of one is really upsetting.”

 

Jimin snorts at the ridiculously overboard nature of the text.

 

From: Me  
“Still doesn’t tell me who you are, or why you were disturbing me.”

 

He shot back.

 

From: Unknown number  
“I am sorry, again. My name is Jackson Wang, I was given your number by your manager, and I am interested in showing your work in Hong Kong and wanted to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the possibility.”

 

Well, that’s got his curiosity piqued.

 

From: Me  
“And why can’t you just arrange this with Mr Choi?”

 

He asked because usually, Seunghyun handled all of this kind of shit.

 

From: J. Wang  
“I would require you to travel to Hong Kong, and Mr Choi cannot agree on things like that without your express approval. He thought it was best for me to approach you and discuss the details directly.”

 

Jimin thought about it, it probably made sense, he sighed before replying.

 

From: Me  
“Fine, when and where?”

 

From: J. Wang  
“Wow, really?”

 

Jimin had to smirk at the sudden turnaround in the tone of the messages, before he could reply another message came through.

 

From: J. Wang  
“I am available tonight? Or sometime tomorrow?”

 

Jimin looked outside, the sky is already darkening, no way was tonight an option.

 

From: Me  
“I am unavailable tonight, but I can do sometime late morning tomorrow if that suits?”

 

The reply comes back almost instantly.

 

From: J. Wang  
“That suits very well, thank you, Mr Park,”

 

Jimin smiled despite himself, the swing between formal and informal was kind of endearing. He replied back, naming a decent local coffee shop not too far from his place and suggesting 11 am. He already knows that Jackson Wang will agree to his terms, he’s too keen not to, and Jimin wonders what else he can get this guy to agree to in terms of his potential travel to Hong Kong.

 

 

When he enters the coffee shop the following morning, Jimin realises he’s fucked up, he scans the tables, looking for any sign that someone recognises him, because he has literally no fucking clue who he is looking for. He has a name and a vague assumption that this Jackson Wang character will be similar to Choi Seunghyun. When he first met Seunghyun there was no doubt that he was important, just the way he dressed and carried himself screamed class. But there is no one in the coffee shop today that looks even vaguely like they might fit the bill of an international art dealer, maybe Mr Wang is late. Jimin huffs crossly to himself, this guy isn’t exactly making a good first impression if that is the case. He makes his way over to the counter, trying to decide what he wanted to order, when a casually dressed guy with a beanie pulled down low on his head jumps in his path. Jimin looks at him, irritated, trying not to let it show in case this guy was a fan or something, he isn’t expecting the guy to extend his hand for Jimin to shake.

“Mr Park,” the guy says, shaking Jimin’s hand that’s extended itself on instinct, “thank you for meeting me today, can I get you something to drink?”

Jimin blinks, brain a touch slow on the uptake, before he replies,

“Jackson Wang?” in a questioning tone.

Jackson nods, and smiles, “not what you were expecting? Let me get you a drink and I’ll explain myself. Coffee?”

Jimin shakes his head, “uhh no, I’ll have a peppermint tea thanks.”

Jackson blinks himself, obviously surprised by Jimin’s choice, but wisely chooses not to comment, “no problem,” he agrees, “I’m sitting there, please take a seat, I won’t be a minute.”

He indicates just behind Jimin, at a table Jackson has clearly made himself at home on, his possessions are littering the table as well as a half-full cup and partially eaten pastry. Jimin sits, waiting for Jackson’s return, trying not to look at the notepad he’s left open, pen dropped carelessly to the side.

Jackson doesn’t take long to return, balancing a tray with Jimin’s teapot, a cup and a plate with a second pastry on it, he blushes slightly as he unloads the contents in front of Jimin,

“I, uhh, didn’t know if you were hungry?” Jackson mumbled, looking a bit mortified, “I mean, I was eating, didn’t want to be a dick, you know?”

Jimin grins, stomach suddenly rumbling, “cool, thanks.” He told Jackson, accepting the pastry.

They chatted for a while, Jackson apologising yet again for interrupting Jimin’s drawing yesterday, Jimin confessing it was just a sketch anyway. They get on well, Jackson is only 2 years older than Jimin, and in some ways less mature so they have plenty in common. Jackson confesses that Jimin is the first artist that he’s been asked to approach, so he doesn’t really know if he’s going about it the right way. Jimin doesn’t tell him that actually, he’s probably not, because this guy’s approach is quite refreshing. He finds himself agreeing to travel to Hong Kong, to holding an exhibition there, he has other drawings that didn’t make it into his other exhibition, with the addition of a few new ones he reckons he can bring them together as a collection. He shows Jackson some photos he’s taken of them on his phone and Jackson is seriously excited. They agree, provisionally, on a late spring exhibition, Jimin will need to come to Hong Kong for a meeting beforehand, and then come for the actual exhibition, to mingle. This he’s nervous of, he has zero linguistics talents, doesn’t think for one minute that he’ll be able to learn enough Chinese to be able to converse but Jackson reassures him, he’ll stick with him, interpret for him and for the first time Jimin realises that Jackson speaks flawless Korean despite not being local. They discuss languages for a while, and Jackson confesses he’s fluent in others too, it’s clear he’s proud of it, but not too much of a show-off, which Jimin likes.

They chat for so long that the pastry feels like a long time ago, Jimin is hungry again and voices as much to Jackson. It flusters the other man, he apologises for taking up so much of Jimin’s time and goes to make his move, but Jimin isn’t ready to let him go just yet, there is something about Jackson that intrigues him, and so he suggests they get lunch together. Jackson is hesitant, not wanting to cross boundaries, but Jimin is insistent and too hungry to take no for an answer.

They don’t go far, Jimin leading Jackson to one of his local’s, somewhere he frequents probably too often. They know him in here, slip him a couple of extras, and despite the fact that it’s only lunchtime, keep the drinks flowing probably a bit too freely.

They are both on the wrong side of inebriation when they finish eating, bumping gently into each other’s shoulders as they walk grinning down the sidewalk, and off the cuff remark from Jackson has Jimin thinking.

“Man, I’d love to see your studio sometime,” Jackson told him, hiccupping gently.

Jimin shrugged, “come now if you want, ‘s just around the corner.”

Jackson’s eyes widened and he grabbed on to Jimin’s arm, “are you sure?” he asked, his eyes wide, “that’d be fucking awesome.”

Jimin giggled, enjoying Jackson’s strong hand clutching on to him, “yeah sure,” he said, “come on.”

In the back of his mind he thought this might not be the best idea he’s ever had, he’s definitely a bit drunk and still so very fucking hurt over Jungkook, but on the other hand, why the fuck not? He was single now, and Jackson is fucking cute. Jimin lets his dick think for him, and so he leads Jackson into his place, trying not to leer at him too obviously.

He shows Jackson around, but Jackson isn’t interested at anything apart from Jimin’s pictures, he hasn’t covered the drawing on his easel, not expecting anyone to come over, no one ever comes over these days, so Jackson becomes the first person to get a really good look at one of his works in progress.

Jimin is flattered by how much Jackson is spellbound, leaning in close to appreciate all of the individual pencil strokes but staying far enough back to be respectful, and suddenly Jimin can’t control himself anymore. He leans in close too, his face practically touching Jackson’s. For a second they hold each other’s eye contact, and then Jimin launches himself at Jackson, yanking him in close and pushing his lips against Jackson’s. The alcohol coursing around his system blurs everything, so it takes him longer than it should do to realise that Jackson has gone completely stiff in his arms, and that he is not kissing Jimin back.

When Jimin pulls back, stops kissing him, Jackson wriggles from his grasp, gasping hard, pushing one hand weakly against Jimin’s chest. He can tell from the look of utter shock on Jackson’s face that he’s totally read this wrong, that Jackson was really just being friendly, he wasn’t flirting, he wasn’t angling for something more, and Jimin is fucking mortified. He steps back, face flaming,

“sorry,” he chokes out, “misread you.”

Jackson is possibly even more embarrassed, “no its fine,” he squeaks out, sounding anything other than fine, “I mean, you know, I’m…flattered I guess? I just don’t, I mean I’m not…”

“Don’t do guys,” Jimin finished for him.

Jackson choked out a strangled high pitched and very fake sounding laugh, “umm yeah, I’m mean no, not guys.” He shrugged his shoulders, “sorry?”

Jackson looks like he wants to bolt and Jimin can’t get rid of him fast enough, the mortification of what he’s done burning inside him like a fucking wildfire.

“No, it’s cool, so you’ll like, call me or something?” he questioned as Jackson heads for the door. He registers the look of horror that briefly flashes over Jackson’s face before he amends, “about the exhibition?”

Jackson nods, “oh, yeah, yeah, of course. I should probably, uhh, get going now?”

Jimin nods, walking woodenly to the door to show Jackson out, “yeah.”

He can’t watch Jackson leave, can’t shake the feeling of utter mortification about jumping the poor guy, can’t believe he’s potentially fucked up his first overseas exhibition offer. Then this studio feels too small, too cramped, and Jimin just needs to get out.

After giving Jackson a head start he walks for ages, not having any plan or destination in mind, when dark starts to fall he retreats into the first bar he comes across, and starts drinking for real.

 

 

When he wakes up at whatever time it is the next day, he has no fucking clue where he is. This place smells average at best, and he’s not alone in the bed. He rolls over gingerly, trying to ignore the jolt of pain up his back and in his ass, trying both to remember and forget what he did last night.

It comes back in flashes, drinking at the bar, so much drinking, meeting someone, being dragged to a club, dancing, kissing, groping and grinding. Nothing more comes back after that, but it’s clear from the pains in his body that he’d had sex, pretty fucking hard sex.

The guy next to him looks rough, not drunk and shagged out rough, like he could seriously fuck Jimin up rough, and then he exhales foul breath in Jimin’s face and before he can stop himself Jimin’s body contracts, he barely manages to get his face over the edge of the bed before he’s vomiting all over the floor. The guy wakes up quickly, taking in the situation, and punches Jimin hard in his lower back, growling at him,

“you dirty fucking cunt.”

Jimin tenses at both the man’s tone and his words, leaping up, grabbing his clothes and running before this guy can hit him again. He shoves his way out of the flat, dragging his clothes on as he goes, so fucking grateful that the holy trinity of his keys, phone and wallet are all present and correct. He bolts far enough to be sure he isn’t being followed, then has to duck down an alleyway to puke again, the pain and the fear contributing to the hungover mess he’s made of his body. He has no clue where he is and has to wander, lost for a bit until he can find a subway station, and a map, right now he hates himself and the whole fucking situation he’s got himself into, and all he can hear is the guys voice revolving around in his head calling him a dirty fucking cunt, he doesn’t even disagree.

 

 

Each time he does it he promises himself it will be the last time. Each time he wakes up in a stranger’s bed, in pain, no clue how he got there, no clue if he’s been safe, he promises himself that it will be the last time, but it never is. Because no matter how long he manages to hold out, the emptiness returns, the darkness that refuses to be filled with anything other than far too much alcohol and having sex with random strangers. And the voices continue to echo around his head, calling him dirty, disgusting, a slut, a fag, diseased. Voices that grow louder each time he goes out and proves them right.

Nobody knows though, Jimin makes very sure of that, he goes further away, seeking out partners in places that most people he associates with wouldn’t dare venture, ugly and seedy places. The irony of him being too scared to go out after dark not so long ago isn’t lost on him. The fact is that he can now be found in the dark in these forbidding places, getting on his knees in dirty alleyways while assholes fuck into his willing mouth, not caring if he’s choking and gagging on their cocks.

If anyone has noticed a change in him, no one mentions it.

 

 

Then he gets the phone call that he genuinely wasn’t expecting, Jackson Wang rings him to organise his first trip to Hong Kong to look at potential gallery spaces. To say he’s shocked to hear from him again is an understatement, after he’d jumped him he figured Jackson would fade away, but clearly, he’s made of sterner stuff. After the initial awkwardness of the call, they start chatting more comfortably, and Jimin even manages to be a bit cheeky,

“so are you guys flying me first class?” he asks.

Jackson giggles before replying, “not this time Jimin, you need to prove yourself first, but I can probably swing for business, that ok?”

Considering Jimin has never been out of the country it is more than ok with him and he tells Jackson as much, before adding,

“and am I getting a fancy hotel?”

Jackson snorts with mirth, “I thought you were a small town boy Jimin? You drive a hard bargain, yes you’ll have a nice hotel ok?”

Jimin giggles back, feeling lighter than he has since he and Jungkook spilt up, “thanks Jackson, I’m looking forward to this.”

His tone must have betrayed something because Jackson drops all formalities and asks Jimin gently,

“rough time?”

Jimin’s eyes fill with sudden tears at Jackson’s gentle tone, he chokes them back to answer,

“yeah, a bit,” he tells him quietly.

“This to do with your ex?” Jackson asks softly, “how long has it been?”

Jimin’s voice cracks as he answers, “a bit over two months.”

“Still early days then,” Jackson told him soothingly, “be gentle on yourself.”

When Jimin doesn’t reply, can't reply, Jackson fills the silence,

“I’ll email you the details huh? Be there to collect you at the airport on Friday?”

Jimin manages to choke out, “thanks Jackson,” before he hangs up and cries, again.

 

His last encounter was two days ago, the guy was probably the roughest so far, and Jimin is still hurting in too many places, he’s only got 3 days until he flies out to Hong Kong and to see Jackson again so this time when he promises himself that he won’t go out before, he sticks to it. He draws instead, quietly putting away a couple that he’s done either under the influence or during the aftermath of his encounters, these are beyond dark, they’re ugly, but Jimin can’t bring himself to destroy or get rid of them, they’re a mirror to his current situation.

 

 

By the time he heads to the airport on Friday he’s feeling somewhat better, the bruises and hickeys are fading and the pain under control from the medication. He had to change doctor a few weeks back, his original guy had told him that his hand should be healed enough now that he shouldn’t need the strong painkillers any more, and he was right. Jimin is far too ashamed to admit that the reason he needs them now is to negate the after effects of letting random men use him however they see fit, this new guy doesn’t ask questions, just prescribes what Jimin asks for, it’s much easier, so he’s thankfully well stocked again. He doesn’t stop to think maybe painkillers aren’t the best way of dealing with his current lifestyle choices.

 

 

True to his word, Jackson is waiting for Jimin on the Hong Kong side of the airport, grinning widely as he sees Jimin, waving a large plaque with Jimin’s name plastered all over it, and Jimin can’t help but grin back. He takes Jimin to his hotel, waiting in the lobby for Jimin to freshen up before they jump back in Jackson’s car to go and have a look at the three potential spaces Jackson has found for him.

They’re all amazing, but Jimin can’t help notice that the third space is Jackson’s favourite. He’s tried to be subtle, but he just lights up when he shows Jimin the third, and his enthusiasm is infectious. And for all he knows about drawing, exhibition spaces aren’t his area of expertise, so he trusts 

Jackson’s judgement, and he wants to make him happy. In the car on the way back to the hotel he tells Jackson, he’d like to use the third space. Jackson is ecstatic, and his happiness makes Jimin happy too, he feels some of the weight of the last couple of crushingly lonely months ease, and it’s thanks to Jackson.

He doesn’t have long in Hong Kong this time, the rest of today and then he leaves again tomorrow afternoon, and Jackson is determined to show him as much as he can. He takes Jimin on a whistle-stop tour of the city, entertaining him, making him laugh, feeding him delicious foods, and Jimin gets a little pang of regret that Jackson doesn’t like guys because he’d be such an awesome boyfriend, but Jimin will settle for being his friend.

The Hong Kong exhibition is planned for just a few short months away, and Jimin is kept frantically busy, there are still a couple of drawings that he needs to complete to bring the collection together so he throws himself into it. He slips up only once, he thought he had everything under control, but it turns out that a simple text from his mum, saying she’d bumped into Jungkook and a now visibly pregnant Hyejin, is enough to push him over the edge and into the blackness again. His mum wasn’t stupid, she knew that Jimin and Jungkook had broken up, and now she knew why. She was gentle with him, asked him how he was coping and he reassured her that he was doing ok, he wasn’t, and it didn’t take long after her messages for Jimin to head out of his studio, almost on autopilot.

 

 

He’s been to this bar a couple of times before, and the guys he’s picked up have been ok, so he perches prettily on a bar stool and waits. It doesn’t take long.

The first guy that approaches him is cute and young, he almost stutters when he starts talking to Jimin, he’s sweet, boyfriend material probably, but this is not why Jimin came, so he redirects the guy, lying that he’s already seeing someone. It becomes the theme of the night, cute kid after cute kid approaches him, some shyer, some cockier, all not what he’s looking for, he’s just about to give up and move on when he spots someone new approaching. This guy is much more like it, older, darker, more dangerous, and Jimin feels a thrill of fear spike through him, this guy is the one. The guy gets straight to the point,

“you like dick?”

Jimin smiles at him seductively, “it depends who’s.”

The guy smirks back wolfishly, “yeah, been watching you knocking back the college kids, not your type?”

Jimin shakes his head, “nope,” he agrees.

“So pretty boy,” the guy, “what is your type?” he leans in close to Jimin’s ear, almost whispering to him.

Oh yes, this guy will do very nicely,

“you?” Jimin questions coquettishly, knowing that this is exactly what this sort of guy wants.

“Follow me,” the guy commands, slamming his glass down on the bar, taking Jimin’s and putting it next to his.

The guy turns away from Jimin and walks back through the crowd, he’s big, intimidating, and has no issues crossing the crowded dance floor, Jimin has to stick close to keep up.

The guy heads for the toilets, unromantic but whatever. There are two other men already in there, leaning over, snorting something, the big guy isn’t bothered, and he turns to them, barely looking at them,

“fuck off now,” he growls at them.

One of them looks Jimin up and down, smirking back,

“he’s tiny, you’ll fucking break him in half.”

The big guy just raises an eyebrow, “that’s the plan, now fuck off, unless you want to watch?”

The other two take their leave, and big guy stalks towards Jimin,

“suck me to start huh?”

Jimin nods wordlessly, falling gracefully to his knees with well-practiced precision before reaching for the front of the guy's trousers.

“And don’t be a fucking tease,” the guy spits out.

Jimin knows better than to tease someone like this, and, after all, he still likes sucking cock, even if he has no clue who the cock is attached too.

He works quickly, taking the guy deeply, making him gasp, they all gasp when Jimin deep throats them, surprised. A rough hand curls in his hair, tugging a fistful tightly, too tightly, making Jimin pull back a bit and complain. The guy doesn’t let go,

“don’t fucking stop,” he bites at Jimin, “don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re fucking enjoying this,” he indicates down between Jimin’s legs, where his own erection is obvious.

Jimin doesn’t resist, he gets back to sucking the guy off like he’s been told.

When he’s close, the guy yanks Jimin off by his hair,

“wanna fuck you,” he growls at Jimin.

Jimin nods, letting the guy pull at his clothes, removing the bare minimum to give him access to Jimin’s ass, one leg removed from his trousers and underwear, enough so the guy can spread him out. He is manhandled over to the sinks, and pushed face down, making his ass stick out prettily.

He hears the rustle of the condom packet as the guy puts it on, and another packet, hopefully, lube Jimin thinks. He feels one finger prod at his entrance, the guy grunts as he tries to get inside,

“fuck, you’re really fucking tight, this is going to hurt my damn dick,” he grumbles.

It doesn’t stop him though, clearly thinking one finger is enough prep the guy lines up and forces his way inside Jimin. Jimin grabs the taps, it’s the only thing to hand and he needs something to hold on to. The only saving grace is that the guy doesn’t have a particularly big dick, it’s just as well, Jimin has brought him close by sucking him off, and all the guy wants now is his orgasm. He speeds up, slamming into Jimin, and Jimin tries not to cry out too loudly, he’s gripping the taps for dear life, half surprised he hasn’t managed to wrench them from their housing.

It’s just as well he’s good at sucking dick, Jimin belatedly realises he is nowhere near drunk enough for this, there is not enough alcohol in his system to numb the pain and tears well in his eyes, willing the guy to finish quickly with every fibre of his being. His own erection has long since flagged, and he just wants this over. The guy doesn’t take long, his hips stuttering and slowing in Jimin as he rides out his orgasm. He pulls out harshly, hurting Jimin again, making Jimin grind his teeth together.

Jimin doesn’t move for a minute, long enough for the guy to get rid of the condom and pull up his own trousers, the sounds of them refastening harsh in the silence of the room, he throws something by Jimin’s hand before he walks out without another word.

Jimin moves carefully, wiping himself off with toilet paper, hardly surprised to see streaks of blood, before he redresses himself and finally looks at what the guy had thrown by his hand. He’s half expecting nothing, rubbish, maybe even a phone number, he isn’t expecting to see money, not even that much money, payment for services rendered. Jimin doesn’t even touch it, leaves it, and walks away, out of the bathroom, out of the bar, into the night.

He doesn’t go out again before his Hong Kong exhibition.

 

 

This time the airport feels more familiar, the processes more routine, the aeroplane seats familiar as he settles in for the journey. Jackson collects him again, with his big sign and a bigger smile. The hotel is different this time, bigger, fancier, and Jimin is impressed.

Jackson only drops him off, arranging to come back for him later in the afternoon, to take him to the gallery where Jimin’s exhibition will be held. He’s flown in just a day before, so things should be just about finished, Jimin has a sneaking suspicion that Jackson will go there now to check before taking Jimin there later, it’s nice to be taken care of like this.

The hotel room is huge and luxurious, more than Jimin was expecting. It must be well soundproofed, there are no sounds coming from other rooms, no sounds coming from outside, until Jimin opens the large sliding doors leading to the balcony. His room is high up, on the eighteenth floor, and the city is spread out in front of him. He didn’t really take the time to look last time, too busy with Jackson, but he looks this time, and for the first time in a few months, feels surprisingly at peace. There is no pressure here, no one knows who he is, beyond what he’s chosen to share, and he is just Park Jimin, the South Korean artist. Jackson has billed him as renowned, which sounds all kinds of weird, the fact that this is the first time he’s exhibited outside Korea is also hyped up as something very special. If he’s honest, it’s going to his head a bit.

When Jackson picks him up to go and check out the gallery he’s positively vibrating with infectious excitement, Jimin grins at him,

“things looking good?” he asked Jackson, already sure of the answer.

“Oh Jimin,” Jackson breathes, not taking his eyes off the road, “it looks amazing, truly, I hope you’re as happy as I am.”

“I’m sure I will be,” Jimin tells him sincerely, already glad he’d chosen to put his faith in Jackson.

Jackson just smiles back, excited and nervous.

The gallery is a stark white, everything that makes it is white, the only colours come from Jimin’s pictures. They look good, mostly, but there is something off with a couple of them, Jimin returns to them several times, trying to work out the issue, Jackson is hovering nervously,

“Jimin? Is something wrong?” Jackson queries.

The gallery owner, who has not left their side, laughs coldly,

“I am sure everything is to Mr Park’s satisfaction,” he states firmly, tone stating that he is expecting to be agreed with, it riles Jimin.

“Actually, with this one,” he points, “and two others, there is something not right.”

Jackson blinks, “something not right Jimin?” he checks.

Jimin nods, “I think it’s the background,” he tells Jackson, “the colours don’t pop as much as they should, the background is too harsh for them.”

“My aesthetic is white,” the gallery owner asserts.

Jimin nods, trying not to be rude, “and for most of the pieces it works well, but for the three I indicate, please provide a black background, they will look better.”

“I’m not sure that will be possible,” the gallery owner responds haughtily.

“Is that so?” Jimin questions, tone mild, belying his anger at the guy’s total immovability.

The gallery owner nods, “I’m sorry, I’m sure you understand, aesthetic is important.”

Jimin nods in response, keeping his temper in check, fucking guy is looking down on him, what fucking right does he have?

“Ok, yes, I understand, Jackson?” he turns to the other man, “I’m afraid I will have to withdraw three of my pictures, I cannot show them in suboptimal conditions.”

Jackson’s eyes widen at the implications, to withdraw even one picture now would mean the surrounding pictures would need to be rearranged to fill the gap, withdrawing three could cause chaos, and the exhibition is less than 24 hours away.

The gallery owner splutters, “I don’t think you need to be so hasty,” he gabbled out making Jimin smile internally, making this condescending prick squirm was fun.

“Oh?” he questioned, looking almost bored.

“No,” the gallery owner replied, “I’m sure we can find some black fabric or similar to give the background you require.”

He is speaking through gritted teeth, clearly not keen on bowing to the demands of a younger man, but Jimin knows he holds the upper hand, and this stuck up owner needs to understand that too.

“Excellent,” he replies, “I will be back before the show tomorrow to check everything is in order,”

The gallery owner obviously knows he’s lost this one, there is no way he will be able to cite any excuses tomorrow now, Jimin has made sure of that, he is obviously pissed off but has no choice but to remain polite.

“Of course sir, we look forward to seeing you again then.”

Jimin smiles his thanks back, genuine this time, before he and Jackson head away from the gallery, and out for the night.

 

 

This is the first time Jimin has been out at night with someone in a while, since the last time he was here in Hong Kong with Jackson. He’s not used to it, not used to going out just to have fun, not used to socialising without sex being on the agenda, not used to not getting blackout drunk as soon as possible, and it’s kind of sad.

He has a good time, really, Jackson is a good guy, but Jimin feels kind of lost, not sure how he should be behaving, too used to the way things have become, and Jackson obviously spots something is off.

“Jimin, you ok?” he checks after a couple of drinks.

Jimin nods on autopilot but Jackson isn’t fooled.

“You’re not,” he states carefully, “is it the exhibition? Are you really not happy with the gallery?”

Jackson looks worried and Jimin feels guilty,

“no, its fine, I mean the guy was a bit of a dick over the backgrounds but its ok.”

Jackson sighs heavily, “I know Jimin, I’m really sorry about that, I’ll talk to him, make him understand that the artists have the last say, get him to apologise to you,” he’s babbling in his panic.

Jimin reaches for Jackson, patting him consolingly on the arm,

“fuck, Jackson, relax,” he tells him, “it’s cool, really, I’m fine, you don’t need to make him apologise, really.”

“You’re really ok with the exhibition?” Jackson checks again.

Jimin nods firmly, “it looks brilliant, honestly, I promise,” he tells Jackson.

“Then what is it Jimin?” Jackson asks quietly, “because you’re not the same now.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, and he stares at Jackson for a long second, fuck, this guy can really read him like a book, it’s unnerving.

Jackson is clearly worried by Jimin’s lack of response, he clears his throat,

“I’m sorry, I’ve overstepped,” he told Jimin, wincing.

Jimin shook his head again, trying to swallow past the sudden fucking lump in his throat,

“it’s nothing to do with the exhibition Jackson,” he tells him softly.

Jackson's expression clears with sudden understanding, “oh Jimin, I’m sorry, your ex?” he asks softly.

Jimin ducks his head, unable to look Jackson in the eyes any longer, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to fall.

“You miss him,” Jackson states, “is there any chance for the two of you?”

Jimin shakes his head, “none,” he chokes out, “his wife is pregnant, again.”

Jackson sucks in such a sharp breath that he chokes slightly,

“his, uhh, wife?” he questions.

Jimin sneaks a look at him, “it’s not as bad as it sounds,” he tells Jackson, “well it is, but I’m not actually the asshole here.”

“Ok,” Jackson nods, “I think you’d better start from the beginning, let me go and get us another drink.”

He threads his way to the bar, returning shortly afterwards with fresh drinks, placing one in front of Jimin before sliding back into his seat,

“ok, tell me the story,” Jackson tells Jimin.

And so Jimin starts talking, he tells Jackson how he and Jungkook met, how he fell for him, loved him, how they coped with being away from each other. And then he tells Jackson how Jungkook cheated and ended up married, and how Jimin forgave him and supported him through it. He tells Jackson about Eunae, he tells him every last detail, about how he loves her and misses her almost as much as he misses Jungkook. And then he tells Jackson about Eunae’s first birthday party, finding out that Hyejin is pregnant again, that Jungkook has cheated again. He tells Jackson that the second pregnancy had broken him, made him realise what a fucking fool he’s been, and how much it really hurts. He doesn’t tell Jackson about the drinking and the whoring himself out to strangers, that has to remain his dirty little secret.

Jackson listens, by the end, he looks both incredulous and like he’s in pain himself,

“Jesus Jimin, I’m so sorry,” he breathes quietly, “you didn’t deserve all of that, you know that right?”

Jimin nods hesitantly because if the last few months have taught him anything, it’s that people’s words are true, he is dirty, and he is wrong, and he doesn’t deserve an easy time, probably doesn’t deserve love.

“Fuck,” Jackson sighs, “you’re such a good guy, and this Jungkook treats you so badly.”

He sounds heartbroken on Jimin’s behalf, and it’s sort of nice, but Jimin knows if Jackson knew the whole truth, knew what he was doing in dark alleyways and corners, that he would be disgusted in Jimin.

He persuades Jackson to drop him back to the hotel, wanting to be alone now before he’s tempted to tell him everything, needing to be away from the good and pure that is Jackson before he sullies him too.

 

 

In the morning, his sour and depressive mood is gone, today is his first overseas exhibition and it’s amazing. The sun is out early, spring well underway now, and it’s warm. Jimin eats breakfast at the hotel, calling for room service, grinning at the extravagance and novelty. He probably orders too much, actually he definitely orders too much, but everything is delicious and he gorges himself, groaning once he’s done, thinking he won’t need to eat for the rest of the day.

Jackson looks apprehensive when he meets Jimin in the lobby but is soon carried away with Jimin’s good mood, bouncing around each other with excitement, making their way to the gallery early to check those pictures have been rehung to Jimin’s satisfaction. He isn’t hugely surprised when they haven’t.

He strides into the place, dressed in another new suit, this one fitting him even better than the other, making him look already rich and successful, and quite amazingly sexy.

His eyes dart straight to the three pictures, shooting a look at Jackson when they realise they are still on a white background.

“Where is Mr Kim?” he barks at a passing staff member, making her jump.

She bows deeply, replying to Jackson in Chinese. Jimin waits for Jackson to translate.

“Not due in until 1.30pm,” Jackson relays wincing, “I’ll find out what’s going on,” he assures Jimin.

Jimin nods, trusting him, letting him head off to sort things out. He walks the gallery again, making sure every picture is level and looking its best, letting the memories of when he created each one wash over him, taking him back.

Jackson doesn’t take too long, his face his beetroot red when he comes back.

“Jimin, I don’t know what to say,” he chokes out, “there are no instructions to replace the backgrounds, and he won’t be in until half an hour before the exhibition.”

Poor Jackson looks terrified, stuck between the bull-headed gallery owner and Jimin.

Jimin smiles at him and nods, “its fine Jackson, don’t panic, I’m not surprised, he didn’t like me dictating to him yesterday did he?”

Jackson just gulps and shakes his head.

“You up for a little mischief?” Jimin questions quietly.

Jackson looks back questioningly.

“Nothing too naughty I promise, but I reckon I can get Mr Kim scurrying in before 1.30pm.”

Jackson lets a little grin cross his face, “Jimin?” he questions, “what do you have in mind?”

 

“Well, I told him I’d withdraw the pictures right? I think I should do just that, can I put them in your car?”

Jackson swallows hard, knowing this was going to seriously piss off the gallery owner, but he nods, knowing his first loyalty is to Jimin.

Jimin smirks hard, “fantastic, let’s go.”

He heads for the first picture, the largest, he can carry it by himself but only just, he directs Jackson to grab the second. The carry the pictures carefully out of the gallery, making the two staff members currently manning it start squawking and flapping about. They know Jackson and Jimin, know they aren’t stealing the pictures, but the fact that they are removing them at all causes pandemonium.

One is on the phone almost instantly and Jimin grins gently to himself, he would bet his life savings that they’re trying to reach Mr Kim. They’ve barely got the third picture locked away in Jackson’s car when Mr Kim arrives, a full two hours before he was expected.

“What is the meaning of this?” he blusters loudly, gesturing at the empty spaces, glaring at his staff members, and then Jimin and Jackson.

The staff members look terrified, even Jackson looks worried, but Jimin holds firm.

“I asked for the backgrounds to be changed or I would withdraw these pictures, you assured me that there would be no issue. I have come in early today to check and it seems as if there was an issue after all, so I have withdrawn my pictures as I explained I would.”

Mr Kim looks as if he may explode.

“The backgrounds are not as important as my aesthetic,” he all but growls out.

Jimin finally loses his temper,

“then your aesthetic will look fine without my pictures then won’t they? Do not think I will be giving your little gallery here anything but the merest of mentions when I have to, and don’t think I will be returning here the next time I am in Hong Kong, your gallery would be an empty white shell without artists Mr Kim, I think you are forgetting that.”

And Jimin turns around, leaving Mr Kim spluttering, and walks away from him, right out of the gallery door.

Jimin is breathing hard by the time Jackson catches up with him next to Jackson’s car.

“Fuck him and his fucking aesthetic,” Jimin spits.

Jackson just giggles, “yeah, I think he got that. Backgrounds will be changed in the next half an hour, I’ve told him none of my artists will be displaying here if he cannot respect their visions, he doesn’t need to know that you are my only one so far.”

Jimin lets out a big breath and giggles too,

“thank you for backing me up Jackson, I know I’m probably being a pain in the ass, but I am right, the pictures will look much better against black.”

Jackson nods, “I trust you,” he tells Jimin sincerely, “let’s go and get a coffee or something, the pictures will be safe in my car for now, and I think Mr Kim needs half an hour or so to calm down.”

They smirk at each other and head off down the street to find somewhere. They end up staying nearly an hour, chatting and having fun together, before they concede that they should head back and reinstate the pictures before the exhibition actually begins. 

Mr Kim is nowhere to be seen, but the backdrops are now black and, once the pictures have been rehung, Jackson can truly appreciate that Jimin was right. He walks around the three several times, marvelling at the difference it’s made. With the white the colours were washed out, pale and almost uninspiring, against the black they’re vibrant, drawing the eye towards them, showing them at their best.

Jimin is much happier now, this is how the pictures were supposed to look, this is how he’d envisaged them, this is better.

The exhibition goes off beautifully, Jackson sticks by his side as he promised, to interpret where he’s needed, to help Jimin explain where questions are asked, it’s fun, and by the end, the vast majority of the pictures have sold, giving Jimin another huge boost to his bank account.

 

 

They don’t go out drinking tonight, Jackson takes Jimin out to eat, and it’s a smart move on his part. Without the extra depressive effects of alcohol, Jimin is on a high, trying to calculate and convert the money in his head, trying to work out how much richer he is.

And he’s grateful to Jackson, for seeking him out, for not being put off by his initial grouchiness, for not being put off by his unwanted sexual advances, for not being put off by his fucked upness, for being a really bloody good international agent. He tells Jackson all of this, making Jackson blush hard, and grumble that he’s just doing his job, and then he surprises Jimin again.

“Are you interested in going further overseas?”

“Like where?” Jimin asked.

“Well we have contacts in a few places, honestly I think your art is pretty universal, if you’re interested I can see who is interested in you?”

Jimin nods keenly, “God yes, that’d be fantastic,” he enthused, “you don’t think it’s too soon? Don’t think I should establish myself in Korea more first?”

“Smart question,” Jackson tells him, “it’s one possible route, and you may be right that other countries may want you to do that first, prove that you’re going to be worth the investment, but I think today's exhibition shows that your work travels, and there’s no harm in putting you out there as a possibility?”

Jimin nods, “well if they’re interested I am,” he told Jackson, “I mean, why the hell not, nothing tying me to home,” he winced when he finished his sentence, and Jackson obviously noticed, he reached for his hand, squeezing briefly before raising his glass and inclining it towards Jimin.

“To an international career then,” he told Jimin.

Jimin grabbed his own glass, chasing the moment away, clinking glasses with Jackson,

“to international careers,” before adding, “you’ll still represent me right?”

Jackson nodded, “if you’ll have me.”

Jimin smiled, “I couldn’t do it without you,” he told Jackson sincerely.

 

 

And then for a while, Jimin does ok, stays home, draws, works hard, knowing Jackson is scouting for potential opportunities on his behalf, he knows he’s going to need pieces ready to display. He has been energised by his time in Hong Kong, inspired, he draws the cityscape, wide vistas, capturing the magic of the city by day and by night, and he draws details, a flower in a park, a roadside food stand, an unlit streetlamp just before dusk and others. Choi Seunghyun checks in with him, happy for him to pursue overseas interests, encouraging him to release a couple of exclusive pictures to keep his career in Korea relevant too. Between him and Jackson, Jimin feels well guided, trusting them both to have his best interests at heart.

Towards the end of the summer, Jackson contacts him again, this time with news.

“How do you feel about London, Jimin?” he starts, casually.

Jimin splutters for a second, “as in England?” he questions, “London, England?”

Jackson laughs, “yep, that’s the one.”

“Umm, I haven’t had any particular feelings about it, why?” Jimin asks.

“Ok, so don’t get super excited,” Jackson starts, somewhat too late as far as Jimin is concerned, “we have contacts with a small independent gallery there, and they’re interested in you. It would only be a small exhibition, much smaller than the Hong Kong one, but it’s a start, a first step, if you’re interested.”

Jimin can hardly contain his glee, “well, of course, I’m interested,” adding slyly, “what’s the gallery owner like?”

Jackson barks out a laugh, “very easy going,” he assured Jimin, “I’m not going to lead you down that path again.”

Jimin giggled back, “did I ever tell you Mr Kim sent me a thank you card?” he asked Jackson, “wishing me well, thanking me for choosing his gallery and hoping one day I would consider returning.”

“You did Jimin, many times,” Jackson replied, tongue in cheek, “I think you scared him.”

“Me?” Jimin asked innocently, “as if I would scare anyone.”

“You’re just the picture of innocence aren’t you?” Jackson giggled, “kidnapping your own pictures until you got your way.”

“God you make me sound like such a dickhead,” Jimin sighed cheekily.

“Well…” Jackson started before Jimin cut him off.

“Oi, less of that thanks,” he told Jackson, trying to hold back his giggles, tell me more about London.”

They chat for a bit, Jackson sharing the plan, the London gallery wants Jimin to go and visit sometime in the autumn, planning for an exhibition next spring. Jimin is kind of surprised by how far away the proposed exhibition is but Jackson reassures him its normal, even a bit fast, for a busy gallery, and Jimin is sold, telling Jackson to sort him out with travel plans and hotels and everything, and he’ll be there.

 

 

And then, as the summer is just reaching its peak, and Jimin’s finished drawings stash is growing again, the letter comes. It’s in a plain and ordinary envelope, hand addressed neatly, he opens it without thinking. There is a letter and as he opens it a photo slips out, it lands face down, but Jimin has already recognised the handwriting, recognised the ‘dear Jimin’ from the others he’s received, it is from Jungkook. He reaches for the photograph, heart beating wildly, hands already clammy, and turns it over. It is of a very new baby, almost identical to the first photo he ever saw of Eunae, this is Jungkook and Hyejin’s second child. He doesn’t want to read the letter, but it’s short, and he does without meaning to.

 

Dear Jimin

I miss you, I cannot tell you this enough, I haven’t stopped loving you and I don’t think I ever will.  
This is Eunkyung, she is Hyejin’s second daughter, she is not mine.  
Hyejin and I only ever slept together once, the time that you know about, the time that made Eunae.   
Hyejin had kept in contact with her boyfriend the same way I kept in contact with you. Once she had recovered from Eunae’s birth they slept together for the first time and continued sleeping together until they too had an accident. Hyejin and I agreed that I would raise the second baby alongside Eunae, as her sibling. Her boyfriend slipped away once he found out she was pregnant, he doesn’t want to be held accountable. So now there are four people that know, the only four that will ever know, that Eunkyung isn’t biologically my child.  
I tried to tell you, so many times, so have others, our friends, we all miss you, we all want you back.  
I hope that things are going well for you, I hope that one day I can tell you everything face to face.

I love you, I am yours

Jungkook.

 

Jimin reads and re-reads the letter before he crumples it in his fist, along with the photograph, flinging them viciously towards the bin, not believing one word, the baby looks identical to Eunae, Jungkook is lying.


End file.
